I attended a march to stop Cop City. Rarely have I felt so safe in a crowd. Between 300-400 people in masks, hoodies, with shields and banners, chanted in unison “we are unstoppable, another world is possible” and “viva, viva, tortuguita.”
Calmly, we approached the southern power line cut in the Old Atlanta Prison Farm. We marched toward the police, located on the far northern gate. Along the way, many people ripped up countless meters of silt fencing, the first phase of “pre-construction” carried out for Cop City. This work was conducted by Brent Scarborough Company on behalf of Brasfield & Gorrie. When we reached the police, they scattered. The crowd destroyed all of their equipment with ease and confidence, including their operations trailer, their floodlights, their vehicles. This act of mass collective sabotage was done methodically and without anxiety. Some individuals were heroically repelling police who approached the gate, which gave the rest of us the space we needed to take the time we needed to accomplish our goals.
The crowd left the area together after completing the sabotage. Nobody was arrested for taking part in this action, despite what media reports and police press conferences might lead you to believe.
An hour later, the police attacked Weelaunee People’s Park. They attacked a music festival taking place as a part of the week of action. The agencies responsible for the attack on the festival were the Georgia State Patrol, the FBI, the GBI, APD, Sandy Springs PD, and the Department of Natural Resources. The festival was at least one mile from the location of the sabotage. The festival was attended by over 1,000 people the day before, and hundreds were still pouring into the area for the second day.
After police attacked some concert-goers, multiple small groups worked to repel them from the parking lot area. In the distance, I could still hear the sounds of fireworks exploding. I had been saved by someone who was shooting fireworks at the police on the bicycle path. The State Patrol fired tear gas at us. They were shooting us with pepper balls. All around me, random people were de-arresting one another, throwing stones, and running into the woods. I do not know who they were. I do not know their identity, their language, their ethnicity, their gender. I cannot judge them by any of those. I cannot know if we were friends, if we would be friends. I do not know if they are the kind of people I would spend time with. I can only judge them by their actions. In that sense, they were heroes. Many, many people escaped arrest or helped others to escape.
Around 7:30pm, I was belly-down, hiding beneath the brush. I was dripping with sweat, covered in scratches. A drone hovered above me. A helicopter circled above the drone. I could hear search dogs across the river in the Prison Farm.
I thought I was going to be captured. I did not panic, but I was close to it. And then I heard the music. It was quiet where I was, but I heard it. It made me cry. I was scared, and I was grateful, and I was inspired.
The music festival had not been cancelled. I didn’t know it at the time, but the bands did not stop playing, even when police pointed rifles at them, even when they brought an armored truck into the RC field. When police approached the festival, still over 100 people, they all linked arms. They demanded to be allowed to leave. They won.
I spent almost two hours trying to escape the forest. I wish I had been at the music festival. I wish I had not been separated from the people who had saved me, the anonymous people in masks who were throwing stones and helping people who had fallen to the ground in a panic. Next time, I will try harder to stay with the crowd. Next time, I will stick with the rock throwers, or, if I am given the chance, the dancers, the mothers, the DJs.
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